


Weirdo

by writeralpaca



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Amity Blight Angst, Amity is a bitch, AmityxLuz - Freeform, Angst, Cell buddies, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Hurts So Good, I will not be responsible for the finale, Lumity, Luz x Amity, LuzXAmity, Prison, Sarcastic Luz Noceda, Slow Burn, Social critique, Useless Lesbian Amity Blight, Useless Lesbians, amity x luz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeralpaca/pseuds/writeralpaca
Summary: Amity and Luz had a tough start. Nothing that some time trapped inside a prison for weirdos can't fix.
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Weirdo

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Weirdo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701300) by [writeralpaca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeralpaca/pseuds/writeralpaca). 



Learning new things to adjust her beginner perspective of the world was never a problem, until she had to face the bitterest of the truths: her friendship with Willow was destined to wither, like every beautiful spring flower. 

Amity had been dragged by her arm to a room with four flat white walls when it happened. Their dullness served as a canvas for the clarity to draw the imponent shadows of her parents over her, whose glares gave her goosebumps. Wrath unmasked their true identities and deformed every sweet memory she had of them; to not be afraid —despite the nine-year connivance— was impossible. 

The non-stopping sound of the clock ruled the tense atmosphere, forming a knot in her throat:

Tik, tak.

Tik, tak. 

Tik, tak. 

"Amity," her mother had pronounced, spitting the words as if they were a poison that burned her tongue. "Did you invite that so-called Willow? Even if she wasn't in the guests list?"

The child, blind to the reason for her mother's discontent, nodded. She felt the urgent need to explain herself, yet, the words were stuck in her throat. Instincts warned her she was in danger, but her innocent consciousness prevented her from seeing what was that which unsettled her. To her eyes, they were still her parents. Little affectionate, strict and easy to irritate, though cordial and clever, at the end of the day. 

She wouldn't be sentenced to a humiliating punishment like her brothers...

Right?

"She is my best friend,” Amity excused herself in a high-pitched voice, playing with the fabric of her skirt. 

Her father cringed to the point the shadows in his wrinkled face almost covered every inch of his skin. His eyes, the so-called windows of his soul, were indecipherable, as the reflection of the light in his circular glasses hided them. 

"Nonsense," he muttered. The insult was barely even harsh, however, it felt just like a stab in the heart for Amity. "How can she be your friend when we suggested you to stick to more... adequate witches? You never told us anything about this half a witch."

"Her name is Willow," the girl said firmly. "And she is my best friend because she is nice, and she loves me. I don't want to be friends with the others just because you and their parents get along."

"Amity..." Her mother's tone was a warning. If she didn't shut up, she would be punished. 

Yet, the girl took the risk and put her faith in the clear favoritism her parents had with her. 

"They are mean! I want Willow!"

"Don't speak to us like that." Her mother frowned. "Good girls do not raise their voices to their parents, they obey."

"We tell you this for your own good," her father added, holding his wife's hand. "You are little, we are grownups. We know what's right and what's wrong. You can't be with Willow, dear."

"Why not?"

The answer didn't arrive instantly. Her parents shared a complicit look, talking to each other in secret so Amity couldn't neither understand nor analyze them. Her progenitors’ attitude was a total enigma. She was unable to study them like they could with her. Almost involuntarily, she gritted her teeth to suppress the wave of rage that came along with the incompetence. With the dreadful feeling of weakness. 

Suddenly, she realized the back of her neck was sore due to looking up for so long, and that null were the times in which she could leave with her head up after a scold; they knew   
perfectly well how to corner and leave her vulnerable to their well-chosen words. 

She was tiny. On the inside and on the outside. 

"Willow is not at your magic level,” her father finally said. "She could slow down your learning process, and you two don't have many things in common. It's not a good friendship. Your mother and I believe that you should search for girls in your level instead of putting yourself down. Witches must be with whom they belong. I'll give you an example for you to understand: you wouldn't put a romance book in the horror section, would you?”

"It's out of place," her mother said as she shook her head. "It's... weird."

Weird. She had a vague idea of what it meant and didn’t like to see herself that way. It sounded like a dirty, cursed word. 

"Besides, we've seen her talking to herself," her father proceeded. "And... How can someone from her age do something like that?! We think she may have been speaking with plants, but that's just another ridiculous fantasy; plants don't have ears, they don't listen. It's clear that magic is not the only ambit in which she is far behind. She is not mature;   
she is childish and naive. Or maybe she is so lonely she still plays with imaginary friends. Do you really want to be friends with someone like that?"

Amity lowered her head, guilty. It was true: she did dislike that aspect of Willow. Just like her mother said, it was weird. It embarrassed her. The same way the thousands of   
accidents she made in attempts for making spells, her liking for getting dirty, and the time in which she vomited in the roller coaster embarrassed her.

Nevertheless, that strange attitude was never enough to tear them apart. 

"Aren't you embarrassed for spending so much time with her?” her father asked. "Doesn't it shame you that people see you with her and assume you are a weirdo as well?"  
"But..." The little girl swallowed. "Willow isn't a weirdo, she is my friend, and I love her..."

Her last two statements weren’t lies, but truths spoken by her heart. The first one, on the other hand, landed on a grey area. Amity wasn't dumb: she knew Willow wasn't like the others in many senses. It was her attachment what prevented her from thinking that way. 

"Oh, we know you love her, and that's wonderful," her mother said. "It's good to see that, despite she being who she is, your heart is big enough to do so. It’s simply very honorable from you, Amity: sticking with less fortunate people and helping them."

Amity may have been young, yet, she didn't lack a pride capable of blinding her. Her mother's soft words softened the message they tried to push down her throat.  
It was true. Nobody wanted to hang out with Willow unless it was her. Therefore, she had a big heart. She was better than the others. 

"But you must understand," her mother proceeded. "Being her friend only harms her. Willow is from a lower class, she can't make the spells right, she doesn't fulfil her potential. You are a Blight. Nobility runs through your veins, so if you stay with her, she will think she is better than what she's actually worth. She will feel comfortable being a half a witch. She will use it as an excuse to be who she is and that will only give rise to incompetence. She will turn everyone around her into bad witches."

"But I don't understand! What's wrong with her not being able to get the spells right? She's still very little."

"She will never get them right", his father answered, jaded. "You know why? Because Willow does not have a mother. Instead, she has two fathers."

Amity’s eyes wide opened as a tiny gasp escape from her lips. She thought she heard wrong. 

"Huh?"

His father raised an eyebrow. 

"Didn't you know? She has two dads, something completely unnatural. They must be teaching her poorly; I don't even want to think about the misdeeds they do in front of that poor Willow. Look at how she turned up because of them: as a half a witch."

"Your father and I are man and woman," her mother intervened, resting her cheek in her husband's shoulder. "And look at yourself."

Amity felt lost. Her heart was beating at an abnormal speed and an icy chill ran up and down her spine. 

Based in what she was taught, it was impossible for two men to have a daughter. It was illogical, unknown, absurd... And it coming from Willow gave her a bad taste. 

She didn't understand why it disgusted her parents that much. Whatever the reason was, it had to be awful if her own best friend kept that secret away from her. Willow never talked about her tutors: during all their friendship, she avoided that question and not even once mentioned a single name. 

Amity felt her muscles fall asleep and an itchiness in her eyes. Maybe, there was more she didn't know about. More secrets, more sins, more oddities. And she was supposed to be her best friend... Was she, even? Could they be considered friends if the trust between them was so shallow? 

One last doubt crushed her heart and crystalized her big eyes: was Willow just using her to appear more normal among others? She refused to believe it. However, a part of Amity —a soft, annoying voice— told her it could be true. 

"Willow is a lost case," her father concluded. "Now, try not to make a scene and tell her to leave and that she is not welcome here. We can't let her waltz in and make her ideals known when she is so wrong. Just think about how much she would influence our guests, how much she harmed you. If she was born as she is in that environment, fine. But her thinking she is flawless... We can't let that happen. You understand, right?"

"No!"

Amity covered her mouth too late. The sepulchral silence that came afterwards seemed to have devoured everything, even the ticking of the clock. Her father's smile started to twist in an agonizing slowness until it became a dreadful grimace. Something changed in his glance. There was a malicious gleam in his eyes behind the glasses that made her heart pound faster. 

"Don't you raise your voice at me, stupid brat!"

Amity jumped with tears in her eyes. She knew that tone of voice. It was the one her father used to punish her naughty siblings. She understood what waited for her, and at the same time, she had no idea. 

Nevertheless, before he could spit another insult, his wife stopped him by placing her hand in his shoulder. Amity's father softened his expression instantly, although he did not apologize. Instead, he took a step back. 

Her mother walked towards her and crouched to meet her gaze. Her green hair was tied up in an impeccable bun, leaving every bit of her forehead in sight. She smiled without showing her teeth, her cherry lips widened in a pretty forced manner that did nothing but add more wrinkles in her pale face. The only resemblance the two had were the golden color of their irises, because not even the shape of her eyes were merely similar: her mother's were almond-shaped, with bags underneath and decorated with fake eyelashes; meanwhile, Amity's were round and stood out thanks to her porcelain skin, full of life. 

"Amity, I understand. I also had to abandon a friend for the same reason when I was your age. I used to be mat at my parents, but now I'm thankful. Maybe you are a little too young to understand, but when you grow up and get a better understanding of how the world works, you will. And if you want to learn now, you need to start maturing."

She raised her hand filled with rings and, hesitantly, booped her nose. 

"You still want to be her friend, right?" Amity doubted for a moment before nodding. "Perfect. You can still be her friend without her knowing. You can help her mature, too."

"What do I have to do?" she asked immediately, hoping that, despite all the problems that Willow provoked, she could still be by her side. 

"You just need to make her understand reality. Go with her, tell her to leave. Tell her that she needs to practice her magic and that, if she doesn't, she's weak. Tell her the truth and the truth only. Cause if you don't... " The same cruel gleam that flashed through her father's eyes took over her mother's stare. Her smile seemed to twist. "Then we will."

"There's a prison, not so far away, that is responsible for capturing and putting freaks like Willow and her two fathers in their place," her father said with his arms crossed. "We kept that excuse of a family a secret for a long time already. Sooner or later, they were going to get caught. But we can speed up the process."

"If you don't push Willow away from your side... "Her mother put a streak of Amity's hair behind her ear. The touch was cold. For a short instance of pure terror, she thought those nails would attack her. "We will make sure they get sent there, where they belong."

The girl's heart dropped to her feet. Horrified, she looked at her parents with the hope of it being a joke. Yet, the seriousness in their faces stood firm. 

And, for that ephemeral moment, she could see. Her eyes truly opened, and she understood that the world was much crueler than what she could ever fathom. Her parents didn't seem like the kind witches who read her stories before bedtime; they looked like monsters. Willow was nothing but a victim of many occurrences out of her reach. It wasn't her fault she was born as a product of a blasphemy; she didn't deserve to pay for crimes she never committed. 

She wanted to defend Willow. She desired it. However, the words never left her mouth. Her hands were shaking and sweaty and the tears in her eyes were about to come out.   
Amity comprehended what caused her so many doubts: why her parents would never accept her best friend, why it was wrong for them to be together, why she never saw Willow's parents and took a glimpse of the adults world, filled with rules, hate and hierarchies in which only the fittest survived.

She never imagined the sight would be so ugly. Horrendous.

So, that day, she once again put a blindfold over her eyes to hide herself from the truth and hushed her use of reason with the internal promise that she was doing the right thing; believing in her parents words with the hopes of them being right and helping Willow. She silenced her instinct and nodded. 

"I will," she muttered, looking down. She felt a sharp stab in her head, the floor seemed to move beneath her and tingles which seemed like ants running back and forth her skin invaded the tips of her fingers and feet. 

She suffocated every single sob that climbed up her throat and placed her hand in her heart. The pain was sharp. The terrifying thought of it been permanent didn’t felt too absurd. She felt weak, incomplete as if a huge fragment of her soul evaporated and her body only listened to the most monotonous part of her head. 

"Don't be sad, dearie," her mother cheered in a sweet voice. "You have a lot of friends waiting for you. More talented, prettier..."

"Skinnier," her father added, playfully. 

Amity couldn't take it any longer and left the room in long strides, heartbroken, in search for Willow. 

In a quick hand movement, she had taken away Willow's notebook, which detached various sheets of paper that fell to the ground.

Her victim was paralyzed, her shaky hands near her chest. Amity observed with a critic eye how that round face turned into an exaggerated red above the pages and tried not to cringe.

She examined the doodles in the notebook with a slight frown, meditative. The ink was dry, the spaces which should have been painted with colors only featured simple random lines and the aesthetic was quite pleasant to the eye. Nevertheless, Willow's artistic ability wasn't important. What had really caught Amity's attention was the character she sketched: the protagonist of a children's series of books. The stories were for all public, however, most of its readers were kids. Seeing a thirteen-year-old teenager showing fanatism for that was, without doubt, shameful.

Willow was lucky it was Amity who noticed her doodling in class instead of Boscha. The mocking would be eternal, if so. 

She sighed, tearing the page apart and handing her the notebook without returning the drawings.

"You know, there are much better books out there than this... kids saga. "Amity looked away as she spoke. She was being a hypocrite and despised that. "There are definitely better jewels hiding in libraries for you to dedicate them drawings. Less humiliating ones."

"You weren't supposed to see them... I know it's for kids, but I like the books and the character," Willow muttered, looking down. "Something wrong about that?"

"It's not wrong. It's weird. And what's weird gets people's attention, and I don't think you want anyone else to know about this.”

She crouched, picked up all the sheets of paper over the floor and handed them over to Willow. The instant she extended her hand to take them, Amity grabbed her wrist and forced her to lock eyes.

"You better mature once and for all and find better things to do with your time," Amity spat, forcing herself to look as disgusted as possible. "Instead of drawing things that will lower your social status, lift it up. You are not a kid anymore; I can't be telling you to take care from the others... They won't stop teasing you if you stay like this."

'Including me', she thought, bitterly.

Willow blushed even more. She pursed her lips in a thin line and nodded. The moment Amity lessened her grip, she let her arm go in a hostile way and strode out of the corridor, her notebook against her chest. 

Once she was out of sight, Amity allowed her emotions to fit her expression. She let out a heavy sigh. Her perfect eyeliner denoted a particular sadness, even though she smiled.   
She admired the doodles drawn by her old best friend, appreciating each stroke and her sweet intentions.

They shared another thing in common: they both loved that charismatic character, despite him being written to appeal to a young audience. She felt that invisible —and non-existent— bond they had strengthen. Joy flowered in her chest, but it was ephemeral.

She stopped smiling and doubled the paper in four identical pieces, so it fitted her pocket. Although she was the bully, she left the scene with the most anguish, because every cruelty she did to Willow was to protect her from people worse than herself. However, the adorable half a witch ignored her true intentions. Amity liked to believe it was her punishment.

Yes, she obliged her through mocking and personal attacks to change her personality and give up on her oddities. Yet, thanks to that, she was not in that prison feared by so many, and it was her secrecy what kept her with her parents for years.

After leaving Hexside behind and walking for many meters through the woods, she looked up to the sky, where that enormous grey construction cut through the view with its mighty figure. She remembered how, the other day, she saw guards from that place transporting a unicorn with two horns. It was also impossible not to think about how much they had to enlarge it so they could lock up every anomaly in their population. It was visible in almost every corner of the Boiling Isles.

She didn't know what horrors laid within and finding out didn't enthuse her. As long as Willow was never sent to that site to rot, its existence was indifferent to her.

The rest of the weirdos that were trapped in there had none of her interest. Afterall, she would never be one of them...

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!   
> So, uh... sorry if it feels a little weird. This fanfic was originally written in spanish (by me, duh), so it is clearly much better in the original version. Plus, I translated it all by myself (I'm lucky I've been studying english since I was very young) so it's possible that it has errors. If so, don't be afraid to let me know in the comments.   
> Also, in this prologue, Amity and Willow are nine-thirteen years old, but in the next chapter, when the story truly starts, all of the characters will have their canon ages.   
> PS: Yes, I know thoughts are written in italics, but I have no idea of how to use cursive in this site :P


End file.
